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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23358310">Five Times Clint Barton Surprised His Team, and One Time They Surprised Him</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/affecctaed/pseuds/affecctaed'>affecctaed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, Just domestic fluff, My First Work in This Fandom, No Romance, Team as Family, Work In Progress, clint barton is full of surprises, possibly, updating as I write</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:34:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,633</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23358310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/affecctaed/pseuds/affecctaed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Master archer, Clint Barton, is full of surprises. </p><p>[INDEFINITE HIATUS ]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Barton &amp; Steve Rogers, Clint Barton &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>1.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony Stark never imagined that becoming an Avenger entailed fighting Japanese robots welding katanas that also had machine guns on the bottom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, and blasted what he was pretty sure was the Japanese equivalent of fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>earrape</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, they had fought strange bird robots that had massive beaks that actually made sounds like seagulls on steroids, and giant metal unicorns that breathed fire, but this--</span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>, was making his top five list of most interesting villains, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> (especially considering that numbers one to five consisted of actual fire-breathing dragons, a crazed Soviet man weilding electric tentacles, reptilian aliens, robot raccoons, and a Latverian crazy mad scientist, in that order). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This one’s going on the top five villans list,” he remarks over the comms, to the eternal chagrin of Captain America. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Focus, Iron Man,” Captain America orders, sounding a little breathless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it, Cap,” Tony replied, rolling his eyes, rolling and ducking out of the way of an especially large robot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, uh, slight problem here,” a new voice chimed in. “I may or may not be out of arrows?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hawkeye, do you require extraction?” asks Cap, always helpful. Tony hears metal clanging off of metal, and for a second, feels sorry for the robots meeting the end of the Captain’s red, white and blue shield. And immediately takes it back as bullets ping off of his armour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pick up one of those swords and use it,” Tony says absentmindedly, blasting at one of the robots, as it falls apart in an unholy heap of scrap metal and swords with a screech. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m good,” responds Clint, and Tony can </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear </span>
  </em>
  <span>the grin in his voice. Tony hears Natasha sigh over the comms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you up to now, Barton?” asks Tony. A large roar sounds from the distance, and Tony swiftly ducks and rolls out of the way to avoid getting squashed by a big green fist. “Hey buddy,” he yells. “How’s it going?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Hulk roars off, lumbering after the largest robot, and he shakes his head, smirking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>☆</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the last creepy Japanese robot has been smashed to bits by the good Captain, Tony heads over to their extraction point, where he found Steve, Natasha, and a slightly shivering Bruce waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Robin Hood?” he asks, flipping open his faceplate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugs, and takes off his cowl, running a hand through his messy hair. “If he doesn’t show up in the next five minutes, we’re leaving without him,” he says. He raises a hand to his ear. “Hawkeye, check in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Cap!” comes a chipper voice. “I might be a little late ‘cuz I’m a little stuck but give me a couple minutes and I’ll be fine, just hang on a couple of minutes, like I’m just--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you,” Natasha demands, cutting off the archers rambling, her lips pursing into a thin line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m almost there! Just wait a sec-- oh hey guys!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all turn to see Clint skirting around a fallen robot, a katana in each hand, bow slung across his shoulders. He sees them staring, and waves with one large sword. “Hey, guys,” he calls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I was joking about the swords, right?” Tony deadpans, while Natasha rolls her eyes beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint twirls the katanas. “I mean, I actually do know how to use swords, so I guess that was a good suggestion.” He throws one into the air, gracefully catching it as it comes down, as if to prove his point. “I mean, I’m still a bit rusty but it worked though,” he says, seemingly unaware of the wide-eyed looks everyone else is giving him. (Other than Natasha, that woman knows everything.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where...what?” says Steve. “Where’d you even learn how to use a sword?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Circus,” says Clint, as if that explains everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve glances at the swords, then opens his mouth to ask another question, and then closes his mouth. “Yeah...we’ll discuss this later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>☆</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After they are all comfortably seated on the couch in the common area (except for Bruce and Natasha, who are both taking showers, and Thor who is somewhere on Asgard), Tony demands an explanation from Clint. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you’re an archer, and a, fuckin’, fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>swordsman</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Tony says gaping at the man sitting across from him, ignoring Steves eye roll next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint shrugs. “I mean, I learnt some from the Swordsman in the circus, but it's not really my thing,” he trails off, awkwardly scratching his chin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony gapes. “When the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>were you in the circus?” he looks at Steve, who looks utterly nonplussed by this information. “Cap, are you not surprised?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugs, turning another page in his book (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, </span>
  <em>
    <span>god, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that man was such a nerd). “A lot of kids wanted to run away to the circus as kids, it was kinda the dream, right? I’m assuming that happened.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint flashes a bright grin at Steve. “...and we have a winner!” he mimes ringing a bell, and his face falls just a tiny bit. “I ran away to the circus as a kid. Wasn’t as fun as you might think, but I learned a lot of helpful skills.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls out the Wii controllers from under the coffee table and turns on the TV. “Enough about my childhood, who wants to play Mario Kart?” he says, his grin returning at full force, as he tosses two controllers and Steve and Tony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony, mouth still open, jerks as the controller hits his face. “Yeah...sure, cool cool cool, let’s just play Mario Kart,” he mumbles, shaking his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should have probably read those files SHEILD had given him. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>2. </p><p>
  <span>Bucky Barnes was not the man he used to be, and sure as </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>wasn’t the man anyone wanted him to be. Not by a long shot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(“Work on finding your own identity,” his therapist, Neil, had told him. “Figure out who were are, not who you were,” he said, leaning forward in his stupid orthopedic chair, steepling his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky, stretched out on the ridiculously large Boca do Lobo sofa, had snapped his mouth shut and stayed quiet for the rest of the session, as he usually did.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After he moved into the Tower on both Steve and Stark’s insisting, he mostly holed himself up in him and Steve’s joint rooms, only leaving when Steve became too...hover-y. He loved that man, he seriously did, but sometimes he seemed like an overgrown mother hen trying to protect its baby chickens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(And goddammit, Bucky could protect himself, not like skinny Steve Rogers in the back alleys of Brooklyn running his mouth. Bucky suspected he wasn’t trying to protect him from others, but rather him from himself, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>whatever</span>
  </em>
  <span>.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His memories were still a big blur and jumbled up from playing HYDRAs pet assassin for seventy years, he was getting them back. Slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes he would bolt upright in bed in the dead of night and </span>
  <em>
    <span>remember</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Becca was his sister. His mom was called Winnifred. His dad was called George. His mother had a special mac and cheese recipe she made on birthdays and special occasions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, he would remember things about Steve. About his friends who were surely long gone by now. Steve could draw. He drew people, animals. Anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had drawn Bucky a lot. Half asleep, head lolling on the couch. Smiling, eyes crinkling, as he laughed at a joke. Doing his homework at the kitchen table with his mother, Sarah Rogers, cooking a hot meal in the background. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you draw anymore?” Bucky had tried to ask Steve one night, after an awkward dinner with the rest of the “team” (Barton, Thor, Stark, Banner, Steve, and Sam, who he supposedly kicked off a Helicarrier and who kept on shooting him wary glances. Bucky didn’t blame him.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had given him that sad, kicked puppy look, and shrugged, retreating into his room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>☆</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One day, Bucky found a cartoony sketch of him sitting at the dinner table leaning innocently outside his door, leaning on the door. He picked it up, smiling at the details put into his face and newly-cut hair, and carefully placed it on his nightstand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found a second sketch a couple of days later, one of him and Steve, squeezed under his shield like it was an umbrella. He laughed quietly, placing it next to the first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pictures kept pouring in, some of him, some of Steve, some very detailed close-ups of his metal arm, all the ridges in the right place. He was sure it wasn’t Steve, Steve never drew anymore, but never bothered to figure it out. He liked getting mystery drawings, not at all unsettled that someone was ogling him across the dinner table (should he have been?).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was afraid finding out who it was would make them stop. He didn’t want them to stop, because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked </span>
  </em>
  <span>feeling like someone cared for him or bothered to give him gifts. Stupid, after seventy years belonging to someone else being gifted something would make him feel so much better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>☆</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One night, Bucky stumbled into the communal kitchen, tired of not being able to fall asleep, and beelined towards the coffee maker in one corner of the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It had taken him ages to master, with its fuckton of buttons and settings, but now that he knew how to use it, it was his favorite thing in the whole damn Tower.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey man,” a voice sounded from the couch, and Bucky whirled around to see Clint Barton, lounging on the sofa, with what seems to be twenty pieces of paper and pencils spread out around him, and a muted television screen playing some TV show that looked like it was set in a police precinct. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky jerks, suddenly all too aware of his mussed hair and stubble covering his chin. “Hey,” he says tentatively back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint Barton is someone he never could read. He had figured out the rest of the Avengers pretty well, hell, even Natasha, but Barton, was a jigsaw puzzle that Bucky didn’t know how to put together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was always in the Tower, but often disappeared for long periods of time, doing who knows what. “He’s in the vents,” he had overheard Romanov tell Banner once, when he had quietly asked where Barton was once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was always laughing loudly in the kitchen, enthusiastic at dinner times, always ribbing Sam or Natasha or Tony. To any normal person, he would look like any enthusiastic lad, ones that probably got thrown out of bars for being too loud or getting into bar fights protecting some young lady from getting heckled by drunk asses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Clint Barton reminded Bucky of Steve Rogers. Not Captain America, Steve Rogers. Before the weight of the world had been thrust upon him, Steve Rogers. The skinny young kid who couldn’t keep his mouth shut for more than five seconds at a time, the one who got thrown out of movie theatres for telling a guy to shut up during the introductions.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Bucky was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>sniper</span>
  </em>
  <span>, for fucks sake. So he noticed </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He noticed how Barton’s eyes darted around the room every time someone new entered, the small flinch every single time someone clapped him on the back without warning, the way he shied away from group hugs and avoided touching anyone when they were all squished on the couch during “Avengers Game/Movie Night”. The way his eyes were too bright, too alert, for someone that young. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--up?” Bucky jerked out of his thoughts, and noticed Clint staring at him, twirling a pencil. “What’s up?” he repeated, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You okay there? You kinda blanked out for a moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m..yeah.” he turned around and jabbed at a few buttons on the coffee maker, the machine beeping, sliding a cup under the nozzle. </span>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt Clint’s eyes on his back, and decidedly didn't turn around for the one minute and thirty-two seconds it took for the coffee to be done. When it was, he turned and got ready to head back to his room, cursing that he had to run into someone at this time of the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey. Uh. Barnes,” Clint said haltingly, as Bucky spun around, almost spilling his coffee. “You can stay if you want, you’re obviously not going to be sleeping judging by the coffee in your hand, I’m not g’na talk or anything, you can just--” he abruptly cut himself off, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky blinked. Sucking in a deep breath, and went over and sat on the couch diagonal from Clint, who shifted some of his paper to make space for him. (Steve would be proud of him, making friends!) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first five minutes, Bucky determinedly stared at the screen of the TV, occasionally sipping at his coffee, as the police comedy played on the large screen, and all was quiet, except for the scratching of Clint’s pencil across the paper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(The police comedy followed someone named Jake, probably a detective, as he ran around New York, being the absolute best and worst cop at the same time. Bucky was half interested and half worried for the fate of New York if there was someone like that running around outside.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Giving in to his curiosity, he glanced around, to see full size sketches of all the members in action. Natasha flipping over a car, Sam soaring in the sky, Iron Man blasting at an unfortunate alien. And. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, holding a gun in his metal hand, firing off rounds at something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the one who left the drawings outside my door,” he suddenly blurted, coming to the realization. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clint startled, pencil skittering onto the floor. As he bent to pick it up, his face flushed, he nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Y’know, just wanted to make you feel welcome, or whatever, yeah I’ll shut up before I say something dumb.” Clint looked at him. “Sorry if you don’t like them, I’m not that good,” he said, turning back to his current portrait, one of the team, all of them wearing Santa hats on a Christmas tree (Christmas was coming up soon). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky blinked twice. “They’re great, thanks,” he said quietly, and as Clint hummed a noise that was neither agreement or disagreement, they turned back to their respective tasks.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky grabbed the remote and unmuted the television, and he and Clint watched quietly, until the sun rose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help feel disappointed when Clint picked up his stuff and left Bucky alone in the living room, staring at the screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky had left a few minutes later, feeling like an intruder in his own home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>☆</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(And Bucky pretended to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ over his drawing when Christmas came around like the rest of the team, amazed that Clint could draw. He clutched his own, a cartoon style of him sitting on the couch, clutching his mug, and one of him shooting, the one he saw that first night, now in full color, and tried to stomp down the bubble of happiness making its way up his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mood couldn’t even be dampered by Tony calling him Robocop, whatever that meant, and pretended not to notice when Clint unwrapped his gift, a t-shirt that had a pineapple wearing a thong. “I love it,” he had declared, wriggling into it immediately, wearing it for the rest of the day, over his SHIELD tank top. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Man, it’s just like Captain Holt’s, from Brooklyn 99, how’d you even know I watch that show?” Clint had asked, while Bucky shook his head, smile tugging at his lips. And he pretended not to notice every time Clint stumbled out of his bedroom, wearing that neon yellow t-shirt proudly.) </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here's the second chapter! It's more Bucky-centric rather than the whole team, and considering making it into a spin-off of Bucky assimilating into the Tower, but we'll see :D. This chapter is also 800 more words than the last chapter, I got a bit carried away,,,<br/>Also, I know its nowhere near Christmas, but Christmas gifts with the Avengers!! Would also love to write a Christmas themed fic when December rolls around.<br/>The TV show that Bucky and Clint were watching is called Brooklyn 99, and its a super funny comedy that you can find on Netflix/pretty much anywhere. Highly recommended! Especially since half the world is in quarantine, including me :'). If you're interested in seeing the shirt that Clint gets as a gift from Bucky, just search up "pineapple shirt b99", the first image is the shirt!<br/>Imagining Clint drawing all the members is lovely, but unfortunately I can't draw to save my life so originally planning to draw media for this chapter failed horribly. (for Steve+Bucky using Cap's shield as an umbrella, go check out @_superspicy on Twitter, she draws the cutest fanart for Nat/Steve/Bucky/Sam [aka Barbershop quartet!]) <br/>Thank you all for the lovely comments on the last chapter! All comments + kudos are very much appreciated, and thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>3.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil Coulson was an unflappable man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joining a top-secret government agency? Sure. He had finished SHIELD training in 12 months, the fastest for any trainee, worked his way up the line faster than anyone else, and now sat at </span>
  <em>
    <span>nearly </span>
  </em>
  <span>the highest level or whatever the highest level was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He definitely had the highest security clearance though, other than Nick Fury.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone wanted him to bring in the heavily armed archer running amok in New York stealing intel from which SHIELD needed? Done. Said archer wanted to bring in an extremely heavily armed and skilled (and likely very brainwashed) Russian spy into the same said top secret agency? Done. Nick Fury wanted him to pretend to be dead for six months? No problem. And he wants to dip his (vintage, may he add) Captain America cards in his blood to supr on a superteam? Maybe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Coulson sits in the Helicarrier, screens displayed in front of him, as he watches said superteam, the Avengers, fight their way into a heavily armed HYDRA base, adjusts his tie as he watches the five members of the team blast, shoot, and smash their way into the base. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m in</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Black Widow reports over the headset, as Coulson watches her effortlessly take out two guards by tasing them in the necks with her Widow Bites. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Proceed with Plan Alpha,” responds Coulson into the headset, as he spots a man dressed in red and black spandex get into the same service elevator as Hawkeye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s about to ask who the man is, but Stark beats him to the punch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Katniss, please tell me JARVIS is malfunctioning and not that fucking Deadpool is in the elevator with you?” says Stark in a falsely sweet voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Coulson blinks. Deadpool? His fingers fly over the keyboard, accessing the body cam that Hawkeye had on, and rubs the back of his neck. He’s greeted with a sight of red spandex, and two swords strapped across the man’s back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hawkeye, report,” commands Coulson, at the same time idly watching the Hulk smashing a couple of unfortunate HYDRA agents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a friendly,” Barton relays. “Here to help,” he answers, as a chipper voice from his comm chimes in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey secret agent man! Please don’t kill me, I’m here to help, I promise. We’re like bros, so you know, kinda have an obligation to help him? Saw him on the television and was in the area, so voila! Here I am,” the man rambles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What the fuck? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up, Wilson,” he hears Barton grit, and Coulson watches as they get off of the elevator, Deadpool imapling two HYDRA goons instantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Barton, you’re screwed,” Coulson threatens over the comms in his and Barton’s private line, and watches as Iron Man blasts out of the base with a computer and two HYDRA agents clinging to his legs, desperate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir,” Clint replies grumpily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>☆</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I know what this looks like,” Clint says, walking into the Avengers communal area with Deadpool trailing along behind him, wearing only the mask part of the costume, having switched out his spandex for a black jacket with pink stripes down the sides and a pair of black jeans. ‘But this was completely a one-sided-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is totally what it looks like,” Deadpool says, the grin visible in his voice. “Hi, Wade Wilson, nice to meet you,” he says, holding out one gloved hand to Coulson. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Coulson ignores the hand, raising one eyebrow at Clint, the archer tensed and ready for argument. “</span>
  <span>Easy</span>
  <span>,” he signs at Clint, who visibly relaxes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And ignores the rambling of Deadpool: “Oh hey, secret language! I know some,” who proceeds to sign the word for </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span>, complete with very suggestive eyebrows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Wilson, please take a seat,” Coulson says, gesturing at a chair across from him. Clint follows suit, detaching his quiver from his back and dumping it on the floor unceremoniously, fingers gripping the bow tightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wade Wilson, who has grabbed a pen from the mug full of pens in the middle of the table, is flipping it lazily in his hand, occasionally the pen hitting the table with a dull </span>
  <em>
    <span>clack</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you two know each other,” Coulson says, almost deadpan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deadpool, sitting up straighter in his chair, drops the pen. “One day, some Russian fucknuts who were beating me up in an alley decided they were going to take me to a second location for some torture, possibly murder,” he says, white eyes of the mask staring straight at Coulson. He tips his chair backwards and sing-songs to the ceiling, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>never let anyone take you to a second location!</span>
  </em>
  <span> First rules of being at a bar, fuck those guys.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Coulson raises an eyebrow at Clint again, who heaves a sigh. “Basically I saved him from getting beaten up by the Russian mafia, and the next day he showed up at my apartment with three pizzas and beers,” he says begrudgingly, picking at his nails like a child getting scolded from a teacher. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now we’re bros!” Deadpool exclaims happily, picking up the pen again. “He helped me find an apartment in his building and now we’re good bros who hang out right, amigo?” he says, nudging Clint with his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Coulson sighs, as the rest of the team walks in, Natasha heading over to Clint immediately, glaring at him, and scolding him in furious Russian. “</span>
  <span>идиот,” he heard, and he smiles in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thor and Tony head immediately over to Deadpool, who’s now tipped his chair back so much he’s almost parallel to the floor. “So, Deadpool huh?” he hears Tony say, looking at Clint with an amused smile. “We’re going to have so much fun,” he says, now glancing at Coulson, raising one eyebrow.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, fuck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Coulson pretends not to notice that Deadpool is around at the Avengers Tower more and more. He also pretends not to notice Clint is much happier, grinning more and more, even though the pranks on his office become more and more elaborate.) </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry this one's a little bad and i wrote this in a rush and but here's finally an update :( <br/>hopefully the characterization is okay, if you want a good clint &amp; wade buddy cop fic check out "in wade we trust", its one of my favorite fics!<br/>also heading back to school tomorrow so updates will prob come once a week. <br/>again, pls leave kudos/comments! <br/>thanks for reading :))</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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